POET IN A PICTURE

I know my Darling Hub is safe in France, my teen is in bed, and my dogs are all exhausted, with being naughty today. So I guess it is time for me to  go to bed? I have been writing loads of poems today/night. Some of them I have not published, in fear of getting locked up? I write words not knowing how they are going to turn out, read them back and think? Oh my God. If anyone sees them, they will know I have lost the plot.

I love to write dark poetry, I really don’t know why? It just comes easy to me, happy poems I have to work on. Like Hubs colleague and our friend, she has had a baby girl, those words were quite easy for me to write, as it was real life, happy things don’t always happen to me so I can’t write about them? I think if I were a painter, well, apart from  making a heck of a mess? So, if I could see, and I was an artist, I would paint rather disturbing paintings, do you think? An yet, if I could see to paint, I would like to paint a beautiful white stallion, running free with the blue sea in the background, the wind flirting with the horses mane and long flowing tail and the picture would capsulate that image. He would be running through the sand and his foot marks would be left as a sinking print in the picture.

The sky would be a lighter blue to the ocean with yellow sun shining through. A seagull would be hovering over the horse high in the sky. Rocks would be seen far away in the distance too. Or I would paint an angel. Flying through an ink sky, reaching for the half chresant moon and a huge star would light up her face. She would have gold curls and huge blue eyes, with red, rosebud lips.

I would also paint a pink house on a cliff top. With beautiful flowers growing wild all around the house. The house, would look like it was about to fall into the sea.

I like the thought of paintings of a busy  market square, in  Victorian times. All the offerings on the stalls and top hatted men going about their business with the bent over old ladies buying brown papered bags of food, sold by the marketer’s. A rugged looking weather-beaten man,, with the lines of the rough seas upon his torn torrent face, would be selling one of the elderly ladies in head scarves, some fish. One rather large lady, with pink Rosie cheeks, beams, as she tells the people around her, holding the fish towards them, how she was going home to feed her cat? Ha. I think every painting has a story.

Tells a tail of trials and tribulations.

Stories of happy news and gossip.

I like gold guild frames, with dark brown background and rich paintings forming figures from our past and future.

So, what do you make of all of that?

Dark poems, but not so dark pictures? I say not so, as the market scene, had stories about how the fish seller, had a hard life, how the old ladies were bent up and much more there. How the horse was running free, but from what? Or  whom?

The angel, was someone’s  child. With the look of shock   wide opened eyed girl, flying grabbing for the moon, something to hold onto, anything.

The pink house on the cliff top, well, was that about to fall into the depths of the ocean?

Hmm. I can’t see, but I have a good memory, from my sighted days and a good imagination, ha?

If you can see, look at a picture or painting in your house, think about it, and ask, if you will be able to remember that in detail, if you lose your sight, say, in a years time?

I can still remember, but I forget so much.

Goodnight my Blogget family, God bless, whoever your God is, and where ever you are in the world. Until tomorrow.